


Memories Can't Wait

by oceaxe



Series: More Than You Bargained For [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 00:32:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7383754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe/pseuds/oceaxe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry asked Malfoy to restore his memory of their first sexual encounter. He is shocked to find out how much of his history he managed to erase, and to discover how it affects him to experience those forgotten moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories Can't Wait

_So, shall we start?_

Harry’s own words drifted back to him as he waited for Malfoy to finish his preparations for the memory-retrieval process. Heat washed over him as he recalled everything that led up to that moment, things that had not been repeated since. He watched the way Malfoy moved back and forth at the worktable in his office, his fitted robes clinging just so to his back and shoulders, and desire stirred. He tamped down on it. It both was and wasn’t why he was here. It was momentarily irrelevant, as in the past few weeks Malfoy had made it more than clear that he didn’t intend for anything to happen between them. He had kept Harry at a definite distance, interacting only for the purpose of explaining the recovery process and making arrangements.

Now he was here after hours and the room was alight with dozens of candles. It reminded Harry of his first time at Hogwarts and how it took him a long time to adjust to a world without electricity. He had loved the candles, had never really seen anything like them since his aunt would never have sanctioned something so dangerous in her home. The flickering both comforted and excited him. 

Malfoy made a final, finicky adjustment to the potion that was to assist Harry’s brain in assimilating the memories that the so-called reverse pensieve was to restore. He turned to Harry, a studiedly bland expression on his face. “I don't know how many memories you erased with that _Obliviate_ , but I'm guessing you don't remember too much about rebuilding? About making - friends with me?”

“No.” Harry felt a surge of sharp regret.

“Well,” said Malfoy, “when the memories start returning, don't try to focus on them. Just let them fly past you. You'll be able to sort through them afterwards. They will integrate most seamlessly in your sleep. It will probably take a while, hard to say depending on how many were affected. We might need to take breaks, to give your mind a chance to accommodate them all, depending. I'll interrupt the process to check on you every so often.”

Harry nodded and tried to relax, taking a deep breath, but the problem was that he was suddenly uncertain that he truly wanted these memories back. He glanced at Malfoy, who was pouring the potion into a dosage cup. Malfoy’s face was intent on his task, then his gaze flickered to Harry’s, bringing back the way it felt to have been under his hands, his lips. His stomach tightened with nerves and something else, and he knew he was going through with it. He had waited too long already.

“So, here it is, Potter.” Malfoy held the potion out to him, grey eyes searching green. Harry did his best to seem rock-solid in his decision, but even he could see his hand tremble slightly as he reached out to take it. Malfoy pretended not to notice.

He tipped the viscid stuff into his mouth, an oily but somehow effervescent slide down his throat, and then he started to feel strange. Very strange. 

Malfoy gently ushered him over to the stone bowl and positioned him with hands on either side. He leaned in, one hand between Harry’s shoulder blades, and said softly in his ear, “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. I’ll make this as easy on you as possible.” Harry shivered and then nodded his head again, beginning to lower it toward the bowl. 

Before he was entirely ready, he was falling, falling, falling, but it was different than an ordinary pensieve. The fall was not straight down, more of a corkscrewing, and there were already images flitting past him. Wait, no- not all the way past him - they flew up and towards his head, slamming into him with a very mild electric shock each time. 

Impressions of scenes from pre-puberty, boys or men he saw in school or on the street who had caught his eye and his imagination. This was much further back than he expected to go. He glimpsed what must have been fantasies he’d had, one of a boy a few years ahead of him at Hogwarts- he would have been fourteen at the time.

Then came scenes from his last year at school: noticing Neville’s arse in tight trousers as he practiced defensive spells, noticing the line of Malfoy’s neck as he looked over his shoulder at Harry in class, sneering. Glimpses of a furious wank session with Malfoy’s first name on his lips- outside of the pensieve, he felt his whole body twitch and inside the pensieve he fell faster, towards the ground.

He landed in the Gryffindor dormitory - he was not sure if he should be here since Malfoy told him not to try to focus on anything, but he wanted to see what happened next. The room was empty and dark, his bed curtains drawn. He drifted through them to see his younger self splayed out on the bed, pants around his thighs, a Lumos lighting the scene. He was fisting himself roughly, head twisting from side to side, and mouthing _Draco_ desperately, almost soundlessly but not quite. 

He turned and the scene faded, but was rapidly replaced by brief flashes of wank sessions at the Burrow, at Grimmauld Place, in that fucking tent - always Malfoy’s name on his lips. 

After what felt like an eternity, the images skipped ahead to after the battle, during the reconstruction at Hogwarts. 

He focused on the figure of McGonagall asking for volunteers to repair the masonry, saw Malfoy’s hand go up, and then his own. He watched his eyes cutting over to where Malfoy sat, knees up to his chest. The tension between them crackled at the moment Malfoy looked over and met his surreptitious gaze. Harry felt the jolt that had lanced through him at that moment.

Another scene shifted into view, the two of them stiffly exchanging words at dinner in the Great Hall, gradually relaxing as it became clear neither had a desire to punish the other for their respective roles in the recent conflict. He watched as their body language eased into careful friendliness, a smile darting warily from one face to the other. 

The images resumed their former pace, coming at him too quickly to sort out from each other. He caught brief impressions of himself and Malfoy: talking, arguing, laughing - goofing off, laughing more. Harry felt himself wanting to home in on some of these scenes but they passed in a blur. 

He caught the tail end of a memory in which he and Malfoy were playing a game of chess, and then the memories seemed to skid to a halt. The scene swiveled and snapped into focus - a head of black hair and a pale face framed by white-blond, facing each other at a table in the deserted library. “You find anything about masonry in that book,” memory-Harry asked desultorily. “No, I think Madame Pince has a sick sense of humor. This book is about Magical origins of the Masons, as in the Muggle society of Masons,” Malfoy snorted, flipping a page. “These rituals are fucking hilarious, though.” 

Harry rounded the table to get a better look at his past-self’s face. Younger Harry looked ill at ease. He glanced over at Malfoy’s laughing face and a slight blush colored the tops of his cheekbones. He squirmed in his seat and reached for another book. “Seems like one of the professors could have given us some pointers on how to repair the walls instead of sending us to research,” he complained. 

“Oh! Potter! You have to hear this!” Malfoy burst out laughing again. Something about the way his face looked as he laughed made memory-Harry’s face contort. Harry couldn’t imagine what was going on in his former self’s mind and he felt frustrated that the process was keeping him on the outside. With a mental twist, he found himself looking out through past-Harry’s eyes and finally privy to his thoughts and emotions. 

“If it’s all the same to you, Malfoy,” he said, “I’d like to just find the right spells and get out of here.” He was frustrated that Malfoy seemed perfectly poised and content to actually read, instead of being perpetually distracted by Harry’s presence, the way Harry was by his.

Malfoy looked up, the laughter dying on his lips. “Well, many apologies for trying to share a moment, Potter,” he said with a hint of sneer. “Got a hot date?” 

Harry’s heart leapt - he felt like he was on a hot date already. He forced himself to stay cool and make light. “With who? Filch?” he asked with a wry grin. That got Malfoy going again, and a sudden warmth trickled through Harry’s solar plexus.

Malfoy’s laughter trailed away and his face turned thoughtful, with a trace of mischief. This was a common look on his face these days, Harry realized. As if he was consciously adjusting his impulses towards arseholery, dialing them back to mere rascality.

Harry’s stomach turned over in anticipation of the next thing out of that mouth.

“So, speaking of hot dates, did you and Granger ever…” The trace of mischief bloomed into sarcastic fascination.

Harry’s cheeks flushed, which was ridiculous because Malfoy was obviously taking the piss. “Um, no. She’s with Ron, have you been living under a rock for the last few weeks?” 

“But if you had got there first, would you have?” Malfoy’s face looked almost serious now. 

“No, Malfoy, I had plenty of opportunity to go there last year.” 

“Hmmmm? Do tell,” Malfoy inquired, steepling his fingers under his chin and leaning forward, eyes wide.

“We were… camping - on the run. Alone a lot.” He didn’t feel like talking about that. “Whatever, I could have and I didn’t. I love her but she’s not my type. Anyway, what about you?” His face was hot from uttering the word “love” but fuck it, it was true. He loved her like a sister and if anyone had a problem with it they could fuck right off.

Malfoy’s face looked slightly pink too. “What about me? You mean, who’s my type?” 

“Yeah,” said Harry, perking up. “Who is your type? No, let me guess. I’m thinking dark-haired, moody, always following you around…” He faltered as Malfoy’s face went honest-to-Merlin beet red. “What?” 

“Very funny, Potter,” Malfoy said, trying to smile. “What would you do if I _was_ into you? Probably run away screaming.” He fidgeted with the peeling cover of the ancient book next to him.

“I was talking about - I wasn’t- I meant _Pansy_!” Harry spluttered. Although, now that Malfoy mentioned it...

Malfoy laughed, looking half-put-off and half-intrigued. “Ah, no. Not my type at all.” 

“Pansy, or more… generally?” Harry asked, feeling lightheaded. 

“Pansy is lacking one or two… characteristics… that I have found indispensable lately, that’s all,” Malfoy said cryptically, his eyes flickering brightly to Harry and then away to his book. He stood up abruptly and went over to the bookshelves. Harry wanted to ask if that meant he did like the dark-haired, moody, stalker-type, but he didn’t want to push his luck. 

The scene shifted again, to the two of them in a corridor, facing a pile of cracked and tumbled stones, many of them quite large. Malfoy heaved at one and managed to lift it, but looked confusedly around and then set it down again. Harry grinned and said “You looked almost manly doing that.” 

“Piss off, Potter- I’m terribly manly! In fact, I’ll bet I’m stronger than you!” Malfoy made muscles with his arms and grimaced. Harry laughed at the ludicrous display even while feeling put mildly off-balance by his body’s response to it. 

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” he said, reaching for an even larger rock. He squatted down and wrapped his arms around it, assessing its heft by bouncing up and down on his heels. Malfoy had circled around him, standing directly behind him. His skin prickled as he felt those eyes on his back. “What are you doing back there?” he asked warily.

“Assessing your form,” came the reply. Harry swallowed and surged up, bringing the huge chunk of stone with him. He grunted and lifted it over his head, feeling his muscles strain. He hoped they looked good and not too bulgy. He hated bulging muscles. Malfoy’s were more his preference- lithe, sinewy and smooth. 

“Nice one,” Malfoy said drily. “Now where are you going to put it?” Harry saw his predicament - in his effort to impress Malfoy, he had lifted a stone so heavy that he couldn’t actually move anywhere with it. It took all his strength to keep it in the air. He tried to move one foot and felt his body crumple under the unevenly distributed weight. A shock of fear went through him as he realized he was in danger of being crushed, but before his mind could fully complete the thought, Malfoy had levitated the stone away from him and safely onto the ground ten feet away. He staggered and fell on the ground from the force anyway, but he was mostly unhurt apart from his pride.

“You must really like me now, Malfoy, to save me from falling rocks,” he said, breathing hard. “Two years ago you’d have just let that happen and whistled a tune while strolling away.”

Malfoy laughed. “I can’t start liking you, Potter. I’d end up prostrate at your feet like all your other worshippers.” Malfoy squatted to give Harry a hand up.

“Prostrate?” asked Harry in a strangled voice. 

Mafloy scoffed at his apparent ignorance. “You plebe. It means ‘lying stretched out on the ground.’ Kind of like you are right now.” He lowered his knees to the floor and sat back on his heels, looking at Harry with a strange expression on his face.

“Oh! I thought you meant, um…” he trailed off in humiliation.

“What?” asked Malfoy slowly, as if reluctant to know the answer.

He couldn’t say the word, he just gestured at his arse and hoped the other boy would make the connection. 

Malfoy made a grimace that incorporated horrified, amused and impressed, then laughed. “I’m surprised you even know what the prostate is, Potter. Have a lot of interest in that area, do you? Something you want to tell me?” His tone was light, teasing. He was leaning forward for some reason, and Harry was still on the ground. For some reason. 

Seeing the look on Malfoy’s young face gave Harry-within-Harry a start. He could see tenderness, hope, arousal - such a potent blend of emotions it made his heart seize. He had the first intimation that in erasing the memory of this, he had precipitated the major tragedy of his life. 

Malfoy leaned closer in and young-Harry’s breath stopped. Grey eyes slid down his face to rest on his mouth and it was if he could feel the caress of that intent gaze, it seemed to bring the blood up to the surface of the skin, woke up all the nerve-endings on his lips. “There is something I want to tell you,” Harry murmured as Malfoy’s face came incrementally closer. He could feel the other boy’s warm breath, could see every tiny hair framing that expressive, changeable mouth. His heart was beating almost out of his chest, his cock firming in his pants…

Harry felt like he was falling into Malfoy when a hand on his arm outside the pensieve tugged hard, tugged again. Malfoy’s lips brushed his, then he was yanked back into the present day, present time - present company.

His vision blurred as he tried to orient himself. Strong hands grasped his upper arms and he turned his head to meet Malfoy’s intense wide eyes.

“You looked - tense, you were shaking- I thought-” he said haltingly, searching Harry’s face for signs of distress. Harry’s gaze was drawn to the other man’s mouth, the very image of the boy’s in the memory he’d just left. His heart was still beating a tattoo of frustrated consummation. Without conscious thought he found himself enacting the scene he’d just left. His lips fell on Malfoy’s, and his arms went around the firm column of his torso. 

Those lips- sensual, serious, refined- parted underneath his on a gasp, and Harry felt one lightning-quick moment of liquid warmth before being pushed away. 

“No, Potter,” Malfoy said, unable or unwilling to meet Harry’s eyes. “It’s not -” 

“It is,” he replied desperately, not knowing what Malfoy was denying nor he affirming but wanting to avoid a negative of any kind - this was going to happen, it had happened, it _must_ happen. He didn’t want to lack this anymore, his whole life had been one long lack of Malfoy’s lips under his. He pulled Malfoy back in, tightening his grip, opening his mouth wider. He would consume him and there would be no more quibbling about what was and wasn’t. 

Malfoy relented with a long, shuddering breath, his hands sliding down to grab at Harry’s arse. Their erections grazed each other, the friction of the fabric only drawing attention to how much better it would be if it were the friction of skin on skin. Harry clutched at great handfuls of Malfoy’s robes and wished them gone - in the space of half a breath they vanished and his hands grasped naked flesh. Malfoy pulled away to mutter “I liked those,” then dove back in to deepen a kiss that already threatened to drown Harry under waves of disorienting lust.

This was so much better than the last time. Last time hadn’t been _real_ , even though it actually had been, as it had turned out. Last time he hadn’t known the stakes, what he’d lost, what he stood to gain. This time - he had a little more to work with. This time he felt in his bones, all through his body, how long he’d wanted this. 

Malfoy pulled him away from the worktable and Harry followed, staggering under the weight of the urgency flooding him. He pushed at Malfoy’s pants, wanting to get his mouth on that gorgeous prick he hadn’t even been allowed to touch last time. Malfoy moaned and his hands went to the ties on either side of his silken drawers, dealing with them faster than Harry would have been able to. They slid down his thighs and Harry wasted no more time, sinking to the floor and inhaling the thick, rigid cock before him. It tasted mildly bitter, salty, like everything complex and dark and needful. He gripped the base and went at it with a will, mindless in devotion. Malfoy’s hips bucked and he grabbed Harry’s head, guiding his cock in and out, deep but not impossibly so, until Harry lost patience and swallowed the whole thing, painful but complete. His throat convulsed around it and Malfoy cried out, head thrown back as he pumped his seed down the back of Harry’s throat, so far down he could hardly even taste it afterwards. 

After a few moments, Harry drew away from Malfoy’s cock and sat on his heels while Malfoy sank to his knees in front of him. He slid his hand around the nape of Harry’s neck and kissed him, long and wet and deep. Then he pulled back and put his hands to his face, wiping sweat away, or it could have been something else. When he dropped his hands, Harry could see his stricken expression. 

“What… how far in were you?” Malfoy asked, as it he didn’t really want the answer.

“You - you had just saved me from a falling rock,” Harry broke off to laugh softly at the seeming absurdity of this, “and you were about to kiss me.” 

“Ah,” Malfoy smiled crookedly, seeming both pained and pleased by this. “So you were… feeling inspired.”

“You could say that,” Harry replied, hand drifting to his cock. “I still am, actually.” He glanced down and then back up, eyes meeting Malfoy’s and a shock of heat went through him.

Malfoy’s hand joined his on his needy erection. With a whisper and a gesture, Harry’s trousers and pants were - elsewhere, it didn’t matter where. “What do you want to do with this?” he murmured, fingers trailing along the now exposed hard length of Harry.

Harry’s eyes fluttered closed and he pushed into the touch. “Whatever you want, honestly.” 

Malfoy twisted his hand as his fist reached the crown of Harry’s prick. “What if I want it inside me?” he asked.

A jolt of pure lust surged through his veins. “Yes,” he said, his eyes flying open. “Yes. Are you…?”

Malfoy anticipated his question. “Not usually, but I want it this way, for you, right now. I know the spells.” He reached up to the worktable for his wand and muttered some incantations, rearing up slightly at what must have been a sudden sensation of stretching or lubrication or both. He lay back, arranging himself on the floor with apparent languid ease, though the nervous energy tautening his muscles belied his eagerness. His gaze held Harry’s as he lifted his legs to his chest and with the fingers of his left hand circled his hole and pressed in. He sighed and said “Come, now.”

Harry shuffled forward on his knees, cock bobbing between his legs. He placed one hand by Malfoy’s shoulder, steadying himself. He noted the smoothness and virtual hairlessness of his chest. Malfoy was just as attractive as he’d been 20 years ago- actually, more so. The other man inhaled sharply and Harry lowered his mouth for a kiss as he guided his straining prick to the now-wet hole beneath him, exposed by Malfoy’s wanton position. He moaned into Malfoy’s mouth as he worked himself into that tight furl, and Malfoy hmmm’d into his, clearly feeling a burn but also clearly reveling in it. He ground his hips onto the cock impaling him, grabbing Harry’s arse with both hands to urge him on. Not that he needed urging - if anything, the opposite. His head swam and he was suddenly afraid he might embarrass himself. Malfoy was dangerously gorgeous and he felt indescribably good.

His hips found a rhythm without his conscious volition, dragging guttural cries from both men as Harry fucked them into oblivion. Malfoy tried to maintain contact of either gaze or kiss but ultimately the sensations had him throwing his head back, babbling demands for Harry to go harder, deeper, faster. Harry obliged, a film of sweat breaking out over his body. He panted and grunted, set free of any need to pretend not to love this with his whole self. His movements became frantic, erratic and Malfoy shouted out as he came between their bodies, come jetting from his prick. The pulsating clutch of his hole around Harry’s cock forced his own orgasm from him, a joyous rushing thing.

He rested his forehead against Malfoy’s damp platinum strands, breathing heavily and remembering that this was his scent, he’d always smelled like this. Reluctantly, he lifted his head to find that Malfoy’s eyes were still closed, a blissed-out expression smoothing the hard edges of his face. A tremor quaked through him at the sight. He shut his own eyes and took a moment to gather himself.

“Alright, Potter?” Malfoy asked in a low tone. Harry nodded in reply. He didn’t trust himself not to sound like an idiot if he tried to explain how he was feeling.

“You feel like - oh fuck, where’s my clothes? ah- calling it a day? Or should we continue?” By the sound of it, Malfoy had located his robes and was donning them. Harry opened his eyes to look around for his own clothes. They were in a haphazard heap near the window. He went to collect them, feeling awkward and uncertain where he and Malfoy stood, after that.

“I guess- I could continue. If you have time.” 

Malfoy gave him a funny look and said “Yes, I think I can find the time. Let me check on the spells and then if everything looks right, you can go back in.”

Harry had gotten himself dressed and mostly calmed down from their encounter. He looked over to where Malfoy stood bent over the pensieve and went to stand beside him. 

After a moment of fiddling about with various strands of enchantment, Malfoy straightened and said “It looks good. Ready?”

“Sure,” Harry replied, feeling extremely unsure. He lowered his head and fell right back into the moment of Malfoy’s lips on his, except he was now on the outskirts of the memory, watching himself and the other young man kiss for long minutes. The images sped up again and a whirl of scenes fled past - himself in his dorm, the two of them in the Prefect’s bath - sucking Malfoy’s cock - something familiar about that - well, he’d done that just now - fucking, oh god- a wash of sex acts in nearly every conceivably position flew past too quickly to even sort out what had happened. He was overwhelmed by the onslaught and mentally reached out to ground himself.

The result was that the memories slowed almost to real time, and the first thing he saw was his own face, staring up at the ceiling of his dorm room. He watched as his face went from elated to to blank... to troubled. His younger self closed his eyes but couldn’t find sleep, tossing and turning for what seemed like hours. Harry knew he would regain the memory in his own sleep that night, but he felt dread at the thought of what might be happening in those dreams. 

When memory-Harry woke, he looked haggard and drawn. He looked in the mirror and frowned and Harry felt compelled to do the mental twist trick again. It felt imperative to know what his younger self was feeling and thinking.

Once he regained the view from the inside, he could feel the echo of the dreams he’d had - a slew of ominously distorted memories of things the Dursleys had said about homosexuals: Vernon cursing at “queers” in the street. Dudley beating up a kid at his school for looking like a faggot. Aunt Petunia sneering at a neighbor with a crew cut who liked to mow her own lawn, calling her unnatural. He had a vivid flash of an older kid at the park getting up in his face for holding another boy’s hand when he was quite young, calling them poofters and spitting on the ground. 

Harry gathered himself and dressed, then stumbled down to the Great Hall. He slid in next to Ron and Dean, who were sitting with Michael Corner and Zacharias Smith, and helped himself to some potatoes. “Oi, mate!” Ron said with an edge in his tone. He had not been all that happy that Harry had signed on to work with Malfoy, and their relationship was rather rocky at the moment. “Nice hickey!” He gestured to Harry’s neck. “Who gave you that, eh? Last person we saw you with was Malfoy!” He sniggered, clearly not truly expecting that Harry had in fact garnered the mark from that exact person. Harry didn’t like the sound of the snigger but played along. 

“Ha,” he said dismissively, but inside his stomach plummeted. He knew Ron was still expecting him to get back together with his sister, and Harry hadn’t been able to find the words to tell him that that was seeming less and less likely. “I don’t kiss and tell.” He hoped that would end it, but it didn’t. Michael Corner said, “Yeah, not bloody likely Potter’s a poof, what with every girl at Hogwarts wanting to spread their legs for him!” He looked over at Harry for approval, as if having delusional groupies was something that Harry enjoyed on any level. “Harry a _poof_?” Ron said, laughing out loud. “Don’t be disgusting, I’m eating my breakfast here!”

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Dean looked markedly uncomfortable at the turn the conversation had taken, though he didn’t speak up. Harry felt the blood drain from his face. He was feeling both his own present emotions and the emotions of his younger self and it was overwhelming.

“Harry, mate, speak up! Or people will think you’ve something to hide,” Ron continued, shoveling eggs into his mouth. He didn’t seem to seriously think that Harry was hiding anything, but he obviously expected Harry to be offended at aspersions cast on his heterosexuality. 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it,” he said softly. 

Ron stared at him, hard. “What?” 

“I’m not saying that I -” he broke off, unable to deny what he now knew about himself, hating that he had even had the impulse to hide it, “Muggles don’t- well, most Muggles don’t think there’s anything wrong with it.” 

“Yeah, but you’re not in the Muggle world,” said Zacharias Smith. Ron nodded, not looking at Harry. Dean looked mortified and got up to leave.

“I sometimes forget you didn’t grow up here,” Ron said with patronizing kindness. “Being a queer- it’s just not okay here. Too few wizards. If blokes could just- you know-” he made an obscene gesture with his hands and grimaced -” Well, we’d die out. It’s not how we do things. It’s pretty gross, too, you have to admit!” Corner and Smith laughed and said some disgusting things that Harry tried not to hear.

He stared at the table, not sure how to respond. He felt covered in filth and shame, both for what he had done and what he was failing to do in this moment. Ron mistook his silence.

“Hey, it’s okay, mate, I was only teasing! I know you’re not like that, come on! But, you know, you might want to defend yourself a little louder in the future, if it comes up. But no worries! Merlin, it’s too early in the morning for this. I need some more pumpkin juice.” He sloppily splashed some juice in his cup and guzzled it.

Harry managed to eat some more food, though he didn’t taste it. He left with a mumbled farewell to Ron and hated himself even more. The food roiled in his stomach and he made his way to a loo where he retched until the small amount he’d choked down came right back up.

He splashed some water on his face and went back up to the dorm, ignoring that he’d agreed to meet Malfoy in the corridor where they’d been working. What was he supposed to do now? His head spun with the nightmares, with Ron’s cruel words delivered so matter-of-factly. Was he going to be an outcast again? Were his choices hiding who he was, who he loved or being seen as a disgusting freak? His breath wouldn’t come, his heart pounded painfully, he was sweating - objectively, he knew he wasn’t dying but it felt worse than when he actually had died. He tried to talk himself down but his thoughts wouldn’t organize themselves into sense, he just kept hearing “queer” and “poofter” spat out of hateful mouths, saw the look of complete revulsion on his best friend’s face. 

This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be an outsider again, he just couldn’t do it. Not even for - he wouldn’t let himself think the name. Maybe it _was_ disgusting, wrong- he had felt the same thrill doing it that he’d felt every time he defied someone’s authority. He definitely felt guilty about keeping it separate from other parts of his life. He had very carefully avoided interacting with Malfoy in front of his friends and most of the professors who had stayed to help rebuild. If he chose to - to be that way, he knew he’d have to continue in that fashion or be seen as something reprehensible and dirty. And what about Ginny? He felt awful about how he’d just dropped her after all they’d shared. 

A shock went through him - what about his family? Ever since he’d realized that the Dursleys weren’t like a real family to him, he’d dreamt about having his own. He wanted children, wanted them more than any boy he’d ever known, so much it was almost a physical ache. How was he supposed to do that with - no, it wouldn’t happen. He would be giving that up. Giving up a chance at his own family, giving up having a partner he could be seen with, giving up normality, giving up Ron, maybe all the Weasleys. He ran to the loo again and dry-heaved. 

What could he do? How could he fix this? A hasty plan formed in his mind. He would get rid of it- it was just one night. One afternoon, one night. And the morning - but still less than a full day. It was just one time. He could erase it. Then it wouldn’t matter anymore. It would be like it had never happened and thank god for being a wizard. It would never have happened and he would just stay away from Malfoy. He felt a pang but fiercely ignored it, as well as the knowledge that it wasn’t just Malfoy he’d felt this way about. Malfoy was the only one he’d ever done anything with, he was the one he’d been most drawn to by far. So if he could just forget last night with Malfoy, it would be all better.

The fact that he would have to _Obliviate_ Malfoy hit him, hard. He would have to do that first or he wouldn’t remember the need to do it. And if Malfoy remembered what had happened, he would have something to hold over Harry for the rest of their lives. Flashes of Malfoy’s eyes, his solemn, intent expression, the beautiful look on his face when he came, swam in Harry’s mind’s eye but he pushed them away. It was just hormones. Pent-up need. He would feel that way about Ginny again, once he had reason to spend time with her. His stomach revolted and he pressed down on it with his forearm. Fuck this. Fuck this. He didn’t need this. Hadn’t he been through enough? 

Harry wrenched himself out of his younger self’s mind. He couldn’t bear any more. If what Malfoy said was true, and he had no reason to doubt it as he’d just seen the plan in his own mind, he was about to do something truly unforgivable, never mind _Cruciatus_ and _Imperius_. There was no way he could bring himself to experience it firsthand. Let the memory come in his sleep. Wait - no, fuck it. Let the memory stay asleep forever, he didn’t want it. 

With every fibre of his being he willed himself out of the pensieve. It wasn’t successful. He watched memory-Harry descend the stairs of the tower, his awareness helplessly dragged along with his former self. There was no way to avoid seeing this as he had no eyes to close, here. Why wasn’t Malfoy checking on him? Surely he could see signs of distress in Harry’s body; he felt like he was having a major panic attack. 

As memory-Harry got closer to the corridor he and Malfoy had been assigned to repair, Harry had an insane urge to shake his former self, to argue some sense into him, to let him know it wouldn’t be that bad if he just accepted who he was - things would change gradually over the years and even wizarding society was getting better at accepting homosexuality. The urge disturbed him because even had it been possible, he realized, he couldn’t have done it. What if he could have convinced young Harry that it was okay to want Malfoy, okay to - to love him, or be with him? His children would never have existed. His life with Ginny, their home, the shared trials and victories - it hadn’t been all bad, far from it. He loved them intensely; he couldn’t completely regret all of the past 20 years. That wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right.

Suddenly he was furious. What was the _point_ of regaining this memory? Why had Malfoy come to him? What was done was done; he wasn’t exactly proud of it, it turned his stomach and made him sick with remorse but he couldn’t undo it and he _wouldn’t_ undo it. The fury was successful where the panic wasn’t - he was lifting his head out of the shallow bowl, gasping for breath, head aching.

Malfoy put his hands on Harry’s shoulders in an apparent attempt to steady him. “Alright, Potter?” he asked softly.

Harry rounded on him, his heart pounding. “What did you want me to do with this?”

Malfoy pulled his hands away and backed up half a step. “What do you mean?”

“Why did you break into my home? Why did you con me into- into getting these fucking memories back?” 

Malfoy was speechless. “I thought you wanted to know,” he said on an exhale, all the life seeming to leave his body with the words.

“There’s nothing I can do with this knowledge,” Harry yelled at him. “You want an apology? Fine, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t a hero for once, I’m sorry I couldn’t overcome all my conditioning, or the prejudice of a world I didn’t belong in, the-” he broke off. “I don’t have to justify myself to you. It was just a - we were barely more than kids, Malfoy. We’re grown up now. We should behave like it.” He could see Malfoy’s face gone slack with disbelief, and a stab of deep regret lanced through him, but he turned before he could recant. He strode through the reception area and out to the foyer where he Apparated because he could hear Malfoy’s rapid footfalls, pursuing him.

Once home, he sank into his armchair and put his head in hands. He took one deep breath and began sobbing on the exhale. Fuck this. Fuck Malfoy. 

The sobbing went on until he was hoarse and exhausted. He fell asleep slumped over in the chair and didn’t wake until Albus woke him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Dad? Mr. Malfoy sent me - are you okay?”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Memories Can't Wait by the Talking Heads. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VJu-IABeCws


End file.
